


Confiscated and Highly Dangerous

by Mnemosign26



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fred and George finding the map, Gen, The Marauder's Map, as in they talk to Fred and George through the map, the marauders are only in the map sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemosign26/pseuds/Mnemosign26
Summary: He opened the door to their dormitory, and no sooner were they inside than he had pulled the object out of his robes and was looking at it in disappointment.It was an entirely blank, although very crumpled, piece of parchment.George stared at it in confusion. “Huh?”‘Huh’ just about summed up Fred’s feelings towards it, too. “Well, this is anticlimactic.”
Kudos: 14





	Confiscated and Highly Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Harry Potter fic I’ve posted, so feedback would be appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

“Hey Georgie!” Fred punched his twin lightly on the arm to get his attention - at least, he thought it was lightly.

“Oi!” George jumped, clutching his arm, “you git.” If anyone has been listening to the boys talk, the sound of their voices would have sounded genuine, but upon seeing their faces, it would become rapidly apparent that George did not mean it. He could never be truly annoyed with Fred; the pair had never even had an argument.

Fred grinned. “Pay attention now, brother.”

“What’re you thinking?” George was curious. Both twins often came up with interesting or fun ideas, but more often than not it was Fred’s that were actually carried out. 

“What do you say to letting off a dungbomb in the first floor corridor at lunch today?”

“Without getting caught? That seems ambitious.” 

“Well, the sorting hat didn’t consider putting us in Slytherin for nothing, did it?” Fred started the sentence calmly, but the longer he spoke, the more fragile his voice became, until by the end of the phrase it was raw with emotion. 

Fred and George were brilliant actors, and had mastered the ‘innocent’ face so well that even Bill had believed them when they said they had nothing to do with his books going missing. They were closer with each other than most people are with themselves, however, so each of them made no attempt to disguise their feelings from the other, and instead tried to help his brother through his struggles. 

Neither twin had ever told anyone - besides each other, of course - that the sorting hat had thought for a long time about sorting them both into Slytherin. They had not understood the reasons for it at the time, but with every passing day their ambition became more obvious to them. Still, they would not entirely comprehend this thought process until towards the end of the Hogwarts schooling. Despite the hat’s intentions of sorting them into Slytherin, it thought the better of itself, making the more well-founded choice of Gryffindor. 

George lay his hand on Fred’s shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. Their eyes locked for a moment, and, as if nothing had happened, Fred smiled again, and George withdrew his hand. 

“Whoever’s in that corridor should be shaking in fear.” George smirked. 

And together, the twins dashed down three flights of stairs towards the first floor.

***

“Ready Freddie?” George hissed backwards towards his brother.

“Ready!” Came the whispered reply. 

With the flash of an evil grin to Fred, George peered around the wall, making sure no-one was coming. A moment later, a loud crash sounded from behind him, followed by the  _ pssh _ of the bomb slowly diffusing. George heard running footsteps joining him at the wall, and their hands met in a loud high-five before the pair walked quickly but (hopefully) not suspiciously away from the scene. 

Just when they thought they’d made it out without punishment, a hunching figure flanked by a tiny cat with glowing yellow eyes appeared in front of them, blocking their path. 

Fred muttered a curse, meeting George’s gaze. Instantly, they reached a shared understanding - there was no way to run. They had to walk past Filch, or, at worst, try to bluff their way out of detention. 

This was one of the major distinctions between the boys. For Fred, it was the act of causing mayhem that was most enjoyable. For George, it was the way they tricked the adults, the getting out of trouble. Or, if getting out of trouble was impossible, it was the notoriety they gained. 

Fred and George stepped together towards the end of the corridor. George had found over the years that they more identical they seemed, the more others were confused, or even scared. The more scared someone was, the more likely it was they would let you off the hook. 

As they reached Filch and Mrs Norris, the pair sped up a tiny bit, barely noticeably. Filch, however, did notice, and despite the look of intimidation on his face at their synchronicity, he snarled softly before shrieking: “Weasley! You boys have given me more than enough trouble already, and you’ve only been here a week!”

Fred and George exchanged a glance and grinned evilly. There was nothing subtle about this, unlike many of their other tactics. This was designed to scare, and not much else. “Sir,” George smirked, “you don’t have to get used to us. We’ll only be here another few days -”

Fred interrupted, knowing immediately what his twin was getting at. “A week -”

“For the next seven years.” George finished triumphantly.

“Hmm, maybe you will have to get used to us.” Fred mocked, pretending to think about it. 

“You two.” Filch murmured darkly. “Come to my office, it’ll be a week of detention for you, at least.”

“For what?” George raised his hands in a pantomime of confusion. 

Fred chuckled. “We haven’t done anything, sir.”

“Don’t talk back to me,” Filch set his jaw and pushed the boys down the corridor. 

Before long, the twins found themselves outside Filch’s office. Mrs Norris had beaten them back, and was growling threateningly at the boys.

Fred and George, who had seen and heard much worse from the gnomes in their garden and the ghoul in the attic, shrugged together, unfazed, and followed Filch through the door. 

He gestured impatiently at them to sit down, which they did with no further prompting. The old, frail chairs smelt strongly of mothballs, and creaked loudly when they sat on them. Fred was contemplating complaining, and opened his mouth to do so, when George’s hand on his arm stopped him. Their eyes met, and George’s head shook minutely in a gesture that said plainly  _ that’s unwise, brother. Let me handle it. _

Fred nodded, and George removed his hand and leaned back in his chair, the picture of ease. Fred imitated him a moment later. 

“Dropping a dungbomb in the corridor, don’t know what you were thinking.” Filch muttered. “I’m telling McGonagall about this, you know. I wonder if Dumbledore’ll let me get the chains out again.” He sneered at them, and continued ranting for the next five minutes. 

Fred, meanwhile, was plainly not listening to a word he said. He was examining every inch of the office he could see without leaving his seat, and after a long time, gave a stifled gasp. 

George looked questioningly at him. Fred glanced quickly back and forth between his twin and a drawer, labelled  _ Confiscated and Highly Dangerous _ . Naturally, upon seeing this drawer, George became just as overwhelmed with curiosity as Fred. Moving slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached into his pocket where a second dungbomb lay. Fred caught on instantly, nodding in one sharp dip of the chin. 

_ Three _ , George mouthed. 

_ Two _ , Fred sat up a little straighter, so he could leap up immediately.

_ One. _

In the same moment, George dropped the dungbomb under the old wooden desk, and Fred snapped up out of the chair. 

“You!” Filch fumed, ducking under the desk to inspect the damage. In a flash, Fred had opened the drawer and pulled out the only thing inside. Without looking at it, he stuffed it inside his robes and straightened up, pulling on George’s arm and streaking out of the office with him. 

They didn’t stop running until they were inside Gryffindor tower, bending over and panting. “Did you get it?” George gasped, clutching his side. 

“Yup,” Fred, who had recovered a second quicker than his brother, replied. He opened the door to their dormitory, and no sooner were they inside than he had pulled the object out of his robes and was looking at it in disappointment. 

It was an entirely blank, although very crumpled, piece of parchment. 

George stared at it in confusion. “Huh?”

‘Huh’ just about summed up Fred’s feelings towards it, too. “Well, this is anticlimactic.”

“No, no, no,” George shook his head determinedly, “there’s no way we went through that to get a spare bit of parchment. Filch had to confiscate it for something, right?”

Personally, Fred felt that George was clutching at straws. There was no way, though, that he would say that - George often had ways of discovering things Fred could not think of.

But he was surprised that the best his twin could come up with was pointing his wand at the parchment and saying firmly “Reveal your secrets!”

He was even more surprised when it worked. 

Minuscule writing was appearing on the page, in a sloped elegant handwriting, though on a slight lean.  _ Messr Padfoot would like to applaud you on your truly genius attempt at learning the secrets this parchment holds. _

George looked eagerly at Fred, who grinned. Regardless of the obvious sarcasm inherent in the words, both boys were ecstatic at the reaction they had elicited from the parchment. “What are you?” Fred asked quickly. 

A different set of handwriting spread, larger and bolder than the first. It was more untidy, more carefree in comparison to the other.  _ Messr Prongs objects to immediately revealing our information.  _

Before either twin could respond, yet another kind of writing was unfolding. This one was tidy and small, as though its owner had practiced tiny handwriting so as to not waste space on exam papers.  _ Messr Moony would like to take this opportunity to register his disappointment at his associates’ closed-mindedness.  _

“We just want to know what this parchment can do,” George held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture, and Fred snorted - it wasn’t as though the parchment could see him. 

The first kind of handwriting was back, appearing abnormally close to the line above it, apparently written by ‘Messr Moony.’  _ Messr Padfoot would like to enquire as to where you found this piece of parchment. _

“Nicked it from Filch’s office, of course,” Fred replied matter-of-factly. “In a drawer marked ‘Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.’” 

A fourth set of writing made itself known. This one appeared slightly slower than the others had, as though its owner was scared of the others’ reaction, or unsure of how to phrase his statement. It was barely legible, and sloped upwards towards the top of the page. Fred and George lent forward together, squinting at it.  _ Messr Wormtail would like to express his awe at the nerve of these two young mischief-makers. _

“Thank you…?” George said, confused. “So… does that mean we’re worthy of knowing your secrets, then?”

_ Messr Moony would like to raise his opinion: that these boys have earned the right to use our creation.  _

_ Messr Padfoot agrees with Messr Moony -  _ until Messr Padfoot is cut off by Messr Prongs. 

_ Messr Prongs would like to ask when Messr Padfoot does  _ not  _ agree with Messr Moony?  _

_ Messr Moony kindly asks Messrs Prongs and Padfoot to shut the bloody hell up.  _

_ Messr Wormtail reminds his comrades of the problem at hand - and agrees with Messrs Moony and Padfoot.  _

_ Messr Prongs will never stop his teasing except to wholeheartedly agree with his friends and welcome these students to the Marauder’s Map.  _

Before Fred’s eyes, the four sets of handwriting disappeared and were replaced by dark unfurling lines stretching across the entire parchment. After a moment, he realised these lines were a map, and dark blotches framed moving footprints, each labelled with a name. 

“It’s a map of the school,” George whispered reverentially. 

Fred was less interested in the location and more unable to tear his eyes away from the labelled footprints. “And everyone in it.”

“Whoa…” Fred looked up to see George’s eyes lit with the fire of imminent adventure. 

“Wicked!” Fred laughed, and the two looked at each other, identical evil grins splitting their faces. 

And to them, everything was right in the world. 


End file.
